


The True Gray Ones

by kemenios, killerxxqueen



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Denial, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Male Slash, Mild S&M, Rope Bondage, Shameless Smut, utter devotion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-26 02:10:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3833110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kemenios/pseuds/kemenios, https://archiveofourown.org/users/killerxxqueen/pseuds/killerxxqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Our intrepid High Inquisitor decides to challenge The Iron Bull to a drinking competition and learns a valuable lesson from it, or so we hope.</p><p> </p><p>Another joint work between kemenios and I.  We make glorious magic together.  Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The True Gray Ones

Lavellan’s travels -- his trials and travails -- had taught him a great many things.  Journeying throughout Fereldan and Orlais, allying with human and elf and dwarf and qunari, one came to embrace a certain diversity among one’s ranks.  Everyone had their stories, everyone had their hardships, and almost no one begged aid of the inquisition without a good deal of both.  He listened, he learned, and if he had to hold one lesson as paramount among his exhaustive experiences?

 

_Do not challenge a qunari warrior to a drinking match._

Number one on his list.  Hard-won, ill-palated, and a mistake he would _not_ be repeating.  But Bull needed this; every now and again, Lavellan _did_ try to attend to Bull’s needs as well.  _Tal-vashoth_ was a hell of a thing to swallow, but as Bull saw it, they could either mourn the loss of the Qun, or celebrate his newfound freedom from the Ben Hassrath.  No one faulted him for choosing the latter, least of all, the elf that was bodily hanging from his broad shoulders.

 

“I think,” Lavellan started, and shut his eyes tightly as Bull hefted him up the ruined staircase to their bedroom.  “I think we-- I mean.  Not that I have any room to talk.  But it’s my fault, all of this.  I made that call.  And I know, you said you’re relieved everyone is safe, but--

 

“Bull, you can never go back.  Are you-- Is that alright?  Would you have made the same call?”

 

Poor Dalish Elves.  Such lightweights when it came to holding their drink. 

 

The weight of Lavellan’s frame hanging from his shoulders was not bothersome in the slightest, the only thing he found irksome was the damn elf’s tendencies to ask these repetitive questions.  He’d made his decision.  Iron Bull was now an exile, but it was not an entirely bad thing.  He reached the top of the stairs, his grip on his lover’s arm tightening as he rounded the corridor and stopped in front of their quarters.  There were few beds in this hold big enough for his massive qunari frame and as high inquisitor, Lavellan had the largest one available moved to his personal quarters. 

 

Perks to bedding someone in a high position of office. 

 

“You think too much ‘bout old stuff, _Kadan_ , and must learn to either hold your booze, or try not to go drink for drink with me.  Your brains get scrambled.”  He chuckled, opening the door and stepping through carefully so his lover would not smack his skull against the hardwood frame of the door.  “I am alive, my Chargers live still, and I have you.  This is all I need.  I will not second-guess myself now that it is all over.” 

 

He grinned, gently turning to let Lavellan fall to the comfort of the down bed.  The elf soon felt Bull’s calloused hands making quick work of his finery.  A graceless and undignified thing, but Lavellan was quickly growing used to his lover’s more… well, _bullish_ tendencies.  Hefting him around, shoving him against walls and tables, _tossing_ him into bed.  Not that he could do much to discourage him.  Not that he _wanted_ to discourage him.

 

“I can hold my own against you,” he protested, then added with the hint of a smirk.  “I have before.”

 

Held his own _quite_ well, thank you very much.  Never once said _katoh_ , never declined the supreme pleasure of Bull’s force.  He may have looked like a delicate thing, but there was no question of his resilience.  Rare was the man who could _take_ a qunari the size of Bull, and Lavellan took no small pride in that fact.

 

He gave an involuntary shiver as his coat was shed, and a quiet sigh when he slipped free of his boots.  Not delicate, perhaps, but certainly enraptured by his own body’s answer to Bull’s brutish hands.

 

“So eager to get me out of my clothing?”  Lavellan chuckled, running drink-clumsy fingers over Bull’s horns.

 

“You held your own _around_ me, skinny Elf.” He grinned, outright breaking the ties on his trousers before ripping them down his legs.  It wasn’t every Dalish elf that could take a Qunari of Bull’s girth let alone try to take him in sheer force.  “I held you against the war table....and the wall…”  It had worked well for them that the servants in Skyhold would simply scatter when they heard Iron Bull tromping down the halls, particularly when he had Lavellan thrown over his shoulder.  “Over the banister in the great hall…Oh, hearing Dorian run in terror was the highlight of that night.” 

 

The trousers were thrown to the other side of the room before Bull reached under their bolster, pulling out a solid length of thick rope already fashioned into a noose.  So very easy to slip around his lover’s wrists and pull it tight. 

 

 _That_ was familiar.  Bared already beneath Bull, rope looped tight around his wrists, losing his breath already under the unrelenting assault on his poor clothing.  Bull kept the tailors well and busy, to be certain.  And perhaps, if Lavellan ever bothered to scold him for it, he might actually learn that clothing costs _money_ and _resources_ , all of which they work so _hard_ for--

 

Fuck it all.  Consider them casualties of war; not so much the wide and dire fight, as their own little skirmishes and private battles and slices of death in between the sheets.  Lavellan needed this.  He liked to think that Bull needed it too.

 

“Dorian’s not the only one who runs,” Lavellan laughed.  “I daresay we’ve managed to traumatize a solid percentage of the hold by now.  Or thrown them into fits of jealousy.  My, but you have a _way_ with people, you know that?”

 

“It that what you’re gonna call it?” The tunic was ripped from him then, tossed to join those fine trousers in what would be the repair or salvage pile for Skyhold’s seamstress.  The Qunari warrior chuckled, leaning back to unbuckle his harness and let it fall to the wooden floor with a few dull thuds.  “My _way_ with people.  Good, I hope they all fear what’s hangin’ between my legs.  Fear and secretly desire.  Don’t care about ‘em, just you, _Kadan_.”  

 

He pushed the elf’s thighs apart, settling his bulk between them.  The grin never left Bull’s face.  “Let’s aim for traumatizing all of them tonight.”  Perhaps he could get him to utter that safe word tonight.  He captured his lover’s lips in a fierce kiss before biting his lower lip hard, moving down after a moment to bite down at the tender skin of his neck. 

 

Bull was starting rough tonight.  And why not?  Why not, when the sharp bites and hard grabs only ever got Lavellan gasping?  Why not, when tied and tempted was their illustrious norm?  Under normal circumstances, Lavellan could easily keep pace and meet Bull blow-for-blow.

 

Though with his relative weight in alcohol coursing through his veins, pace was sadly something Lavellan could not keep.

 

“You do have a way with people,” Lavellan hissed, and his fingertips trailed off the edge of Bull’s horns, to slip beneath the curve of his jaw.  “You’re a better diplomat than you let on, you know.  Should hand over ‘High Inquisitor’ to you.  You’d lead them just as ably.”

 

Just as ably, perhaps more so; Bull had been leading people for longer by far than Lavellan could imagine.  Though perhaps leadership should not be measured by how capably one could charm his way into a bed.  Woe for his beautiful silken shirt, woe for his trousers, and woe for the regret that Lavellan would never feel in the wake of their loss.  His head fell back, spine arching to seek out Bull’s touch, even as he held Bull’s waist tight between his slender thighs.

 

“Prefer you have your way with _me_ , though,” Lavellan whispered breathlessly.

 

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, _Kadan_.”  He pushed down on the elf’s wrist’s before reaching to tighten up the slack on the rope binding him.  Just to keep his hands in place.  Iron Bull’s hands then untied the fastenings of his own trousers, pulling out his massive cock and stroked himself in front of his lover.  Teasing him with the sheer size and weight of it.  “But if you try to dump that position on me, I’ll put you in one that’ll have you screaming _katoh_ from Skyhold to the Western Approach.”

 

“That’s quite a threat.  Could make a man curious.”

 

And _curious_ was entirely the wrong thing to make a high inquisitor.  And Maker help him, but the way his mouth watered -- the way his heart fluttered -- when Bull stroked himself out before him.  The proportions never quite made sense to him, the logistics baffled.  It was some supreme miracle of nature that Lavellan was able to take him at all.  He was too lithe, and Bull _far_ too thick, but close though he’d come, Lavellan never _quite_ had to tap out.

 

And if the memory of his defilements alone didn’t make his cock hard, watching Bull was certainly doing the trick in its stead.

 

“Would you be so cruel to me?”  Lavellan asked with a breathless smile, forcing his gaze to meet Bull’s once more.  “Maker, how I relish your cruelty…”

 

“I would be so cruel to you and only you, _Kadan_.” 

 

With his free hand, he reached for their supply of oil.  A slippery substance to help ease the passage.  It was rare they went longer than a few days with some form of intimacy, Maker knew it had taken days for Lavellan to even become comfortable with taking a cock the size of Bull’s.  He poured it liberally over the length of his cock, not wishing to tease so much right now.  Not yet.  He could tease perhaps when Lavellan was begging him to free his hands so he could finish.  Then, perhaps, but not before.

 

“Maybe I’ll just fuck you until I finish and leave you aching for relief while I catch some much needed sleep.”  His grin stretched from ear to ear while he rubbed his cock against the elf’s entrance.

 

 _You wouldn’t_ , came the silent challenge in Lavellan’s eyes.  He wouldn’t, and they both knew it.  Because madness though their nights may be, Cole had (embarrassingly) put it rather succinctly; this was all carefully measured and tempered to what Lavellan needed and wanted, and there were few things in this world that he _needed_ more than to come with Bull’s cock hard inside of him.

 

So Bull teased, and tortured, and pressed against him without daring a breach and Lavellan swore under his breath, because this is simply what they _did_.  There was no rhyme or reason, just exquisite agony laced with divinity and Lavellan had never quite been devout, but he would sacrifice himself at the altar of _this_ , for Bull, for--

 

“Love you,” Lavellan whispered desperately, struggling to impale himself on Bull.  “I love you, please--”

 

“Say it, _Kadan._ ” 

 

He wouldn’t actually push forward until those magical words left Lavellan’s mouth.  “What do you wanna do?”  The elf said it every time the Qunari had him at his mercy.  Declarations of love were one thing, Lavellan said them quite often and Bull never took them for granted.  He savored them, committed each to memory and recalled them fighting enemies on their missions. “Go ahead and say it.  You know you want to.” The smile was downright sinister. 

 

The Iron Bull could be such a tease.

 

 _No._   No no no.  Every time, Lavellan swore he wouldn’t say it.  Every time, he lay with Bull between his legs, begging and pleading and struggling to fit himself onto Bull’s girth, and every time he was denied until he said it.  As if Bull’s ego needed more stroking.  As if he needed anything other than Lavellan fit too-tight around his cock.  As if--

 

As if Lavellan actually had the strength of will to deny either of them.

 

He sighed -- _groaned_ \-- and his head dropped back against the bolsters as he gave his wrist restraints one last, hard tug.  If he could only free his hands, he could grasp Bull’s hips, hold him still and force him inside, but that would detriment his cause further still.

 

“I want you,” Lavellan finally murmured, in the wake of a long-suffering sigh.  “I want to ride the bull.”

 

The Qunari warrior leaned over, capturing his lover’s lips in a fierce kiss as he lined up his arousal and pushed forward.  Hearing those words brought him such joy and it was evident in the way he laughed.  “You are so beautiful like this.”  Straining to accommodate his length, teeth grinding together as Bull pushed forward.  A warm and calloused hand guided that massive length completely into the high inquisitor before wrapping firmly around Lavellan’s aching cock.  Iron Bull didn’t give his lover a moment to rest before stroking him in time with his thrusts.  “ _Kadan_ \--”

 

Always so perfectly controlled, save perhaps on the battlefield.  Bull was always the first to rush an adversary head-on.  Poor Lavellan was the same in the bedroom.  So quick to face his foes, even with so much drink in him.  The mercenary wasn’t gentle.  Not in the slightest.  He gave no quarter to the Dalish elf, simply because he knew that Lavellan wouldn’t want him to.  Wouldn’t want him to, and wouldn’t allow it.

 

There was always an edge to this.  More than a hint of pain, though Lavellan would never cow to it.  His eyes betrayed it, a hard burn and deep furrow of his brow, and he bit his lip through a pitiful whimper.  Bull could take him a thousand times harder.  He could tear apart, shatter him down to his last, and still Lavellan would still plead for more.

 

There were pleas even now.  Unaware of himself, of his staggered breath and the harsh choke of his voice, Lavellan always pleaded through the first few minutes.  Soft whispers of, _Yes Bull, Maker yes, Bull, more, **more**_ , and if Lavellan could hear himself, he would be quite embarrassed indeed by what he’d been reduced to.  Hell, if half the keep could hear him now, they’d lose all respect for his political position.

 

How could one respect a man, after hearing him beg so plainly for a harder fuck?

 

But Iron Bull would have nothing but respect and _love_ for the one beneath him.  Watching the little bits of pain cross Lavellan’s face only spurred him on.  He pulled out nearly the entire way and slammed himself back in, simply to bring that beautiful sound from his elf’s throat again and again.  The begging, the pleading, it was what he needed. 

 

One hand moved, sliding up the skinny elf’s chest and came to rest just at the base of his neck.  Bull outright grinned, putting pressure against Lavellan’s windpipe and jugular.  Just a simple game they played many times.  Simple, and dangerous.  It was imperative that he pay attention to just how blue his lover got, lest he die on him.  The Qunari warrior did not wish for that to happen.  He liked this one. 

 

He pushed the dragon tooth piece pendant aside, pushing a little harder.  The high inquisitor could not beg for more while he was struggling for breath with his hands restrained.

 

Bull looked down; Lavellan was achingly hard against his stomach.  Perfect.

 

Lavellan’s cries practically echoed.  His quarters were cavernous, unfinished, and they resonated with each sharp snap of Bull’s hips.  Reverberated Lavellan’s every gasp and moan, until Bull’s hand closed around his throat.  He could draw breath only laboriously, through choked gasps and shudders, and his vision swam dangerously before he deigned shut his eyes against the threat of a black out.

 

True, he could not bring them to sound, but his lips formed the words nevertheless.  Wrapped around the silent adulations and wove his praise in secrecy.  And once, just at the very edge of consciousness, he almost said it, almost tripped over the concession, _katoh_.  Almost.  But _katoh_ meant this would be over, meant that Bull would stop, and--

 

He wasn’t ready for this to stop.  A guard word felt like such a permanent thing; apparently there was no word in the qunari language for _too much_ , though who could say whether Bull would heed him if he cried _too much_ after begging _more_.

 

Bull was no amateur at this; he loosened his grip when he saw Lavellan’s eyes start to roll back before letting go completely.  Though he leaned down, capturing those lips just a moment after his lover gasped for breath.  He reached forward, pulling the rope from where it was tied and slid a hand under the elf’s lower back, lifting him as he stood.  It was nothing to carry the Dalish elf to the wall and fling the rope over one of the many heavy torch sconces fastened there.  A new position, hanging from a hook while Bull turned him around to face the wall and grabbed his hips.  It was so easy to thrust into him hard like this. 

 

“Hold on, _kadan._   This is only the beginning.” The qunari warrior cackled, his hips beginning a merciless assault.

 

Lavellan wasn’t entirely sure of where the bed had gone, why the warm coverlets had given way to frigid stone, and between drink and a pitiless barrage of sensation; it took a few long moments for him to get his bearings of the room.  Pressed to the wall, hung from a sconce like decor, flush-faced and hard against cold granite, he suddenly had the distinct impression that he _understood_ true power.

 

Power wasn’t tearing your lover’s clothing off.  Power wasn’t lashing him to a bed, hanging him from a wall, fucking him to within an inch of his life.  No indeed, all of that was carefully-maintained control.  _Power_ was a far more elusive thing; it was what Lavellan possessed now.  It was having a qunari warrior at your whim, at your beck and call, possessed by and possessor of your heart, and _knowing_ that he would never see harm come to you.

 

This was controlled.  Exact.  His _kadan_ was the one tied up and yet still giving the orders, he had all of the power in this.  Yet he let Bull have the illusion of being in charge, something his ego relished.  He pressed himself hard against Lavellan, burying his cock so deep in the Dalish elf.  Right to the hilt, just as his lover begged for it.  He was so very tempted to bend him over the balcony and let all of Skyhold listen to his cries for more.  The very idea brought Bull a little closer to his finish. 

 

“Louder, _Kadan_ , they cannot hear you in the rafters.” He chuckled in his lover’s ear, reaching a hand around him to stroke the elf softly.

 

Bull asked and he would receive, in abundance.  Lavellan’s cries echoed once more, and his hands curled loosely to fists, nails biting harsh into his palms.   It was just at the edge, the blurred and oft-tread threshold where agony and pleasure bled into one another and left Lavellan in trembling fits.  He could hear himself repeating Bull’s name, over and over and louder with each staggered breath, though he wasn’t sure how he could still find it in the midst.

 

“Bull, _kadan_ ,” was the breathless chant, too lost and too enraptured to manage anything more complex than impassioned cries.  His hands were tight, trembling fists around the rope, grasping desperately for purchase on whatever he could find, struggling for some leverage to push himself back against Bull thrust for thrust.  Tighter, higher, a harder burn, until at last, beautiful, everything _burst_.

 

A scream found Lavellan at his end, set him to shivering and violent quaking as he spilled himself onto the wall.  His end was a thing of beauty, all tense lines and staggered gasps and violent shaking, and his hoarse voice at last failed him in those final moments.  Bull brought him to this, shamelessly, at least once every other night, and each time Lavellan swore it was better than the last.

 

The Qunari warrior pulled him from the wall, holding him tightly against his chest as he let himself go.  He let his end be known to the entirety of Skyhold with a roar that echoed off the stone walls and out over the balconies.  Bull was shaking slightly, still squeezing his lover against him before carrying him over to the bed.  He took care pulling the rope from around Lavellan’s red, raw wrists before kissing the back of his neck.  “I love you, _Kadan_.”  There was a smile there, it was evident in Iron Bull’s voice even if he couldn’t see him at that moment.  He threw back the woolen blankets of the bed, carefully helping his lover to become comfortable before sliding in next to him.  Bull would feel the ache of this into tomorrow. 

 

The fighter chuckled, “Perhaps tomorrow I will simply let you ride me into exhaustion.” 

**Author's Note:**

> So, I've been watching my best friend play Dragon Age: Inquisition for far too long and this is what happened. We do not apologize for what you are about to read. I have proof-read this, but if you find a minor mistake, I do apologize!


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